<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>As Long As We Both Shall Live by MagicalTear</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189755">As Long As We Both Shall Live</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalTear/pseuds/MagicalTear'>MagicalTear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>1917 (Movie 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Modern Era, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Rings, Weddings, Winter Weddings, only that little epilogue of sorts though, wedding vows</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:01:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalTear/pseuds/MagicalTear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Blakefield Winter Wonderland Day 20: Winter Wedding</b>
</p><p>On December 20th, 1916, Tom Blake comes to the realization that he would leave nothing but an insubstantial memory behind if he died in this war. For his mother. For his brother. For Will.</p><p>His dear Will.</p><p>So on December 20th, 1916, Tom decides to do something about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joseph Blake &amp; Tom Blake, Tom Blake/William Schofield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Walking In A Blakefield Wonderland</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>As Long As We Both Shall Live</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to my very first fic here in AO3! It's so nice to write fanfiction again after spending the last two years writing nothing but screenplays for my portfolio. I owe it to the wonderful 1917 fandom for encouraging me to write for myself again! So thank you <em>so much</em> to my cheerleaders in the 2nd Devon's and the 1917 Officers' Club for always being so supportive and so willing to lend a hand whenever needed.</p><p>Here's a special shoutout to the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderlight/pseuds/yonderlight">yonderlight</a> too, who helped me see the magic in a soldier's everyday tasks after I shared what the 8th East Surreys had been up to on December 20th, 1916.</p><p>Finally, I want to shout the loudest thank you to my fantastic, brilliant, absolutely splendid Beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedsilence/pseuds/crookedsilence">crookedsilence</a>. My prose writing would still be stuck in a weird scriptwriting limbo without you. Thank you for helping me bring my story to new heights!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas Blake spent December of 1916 frozen in the middle of nowhere, France, smack in between the cities of Epernay and Reims. He sported a brand new chevron on his sleeve. <em>Congratulations. You are hereby promoted to Lance Corporal after your superior received an early Christmas gift from one Big Bertha. </em>Some of the men said these lands used to be treasure coves bursting with champagne, perfect for celebrations such as Tom’s promotion. Now, all that remained was a charred hellscape hidden under heavy blankets of snow.</p><p>Tom had hoped to be back home for Christmas. The officer in his conscription office had promised him so. Tom had given it his all to remain optimistic, upbeat for his sake and all the soldiers around him, but it was the 20th now, and this so-called “Great War” gave no signs of stopping anytime soon. Even now, Tom stood vigilant with the rest of his company under orders to execute a brigade attack from the trenches against the straggling Germans that attempted to buy time for their retreating troops.</p><p>It looked like Mother would have to spend Christmas alone for the first time.</p><p>Tom thumbed the golden rings on his little and middle fingers. The sharp cold of the metal helped anchor him to the present and keep memories of home for later. He took a look around, took in the numb bodies near frozen to the mud. Steady puffs of breath materialized from under everyone’s red noses and mouths. The woolen gray mittens that barely staved off the cold made it harder to grip the Lee-Enfield rifles, and the thick scarves some men wrapped high around their necks reminded Tom of tortoises sinking their necks into their shells.</p><p>In his perusal, his gaze met that of his fellow Lance Corporal, William Schofield. Scho—<em>Will</em>.</p><p>His Will.</p><p>He stood as tall as the trench allowed among his section, distantly serene, removed. His gray scarf covered his mouth and the tip of his nose, but it did nothing to hide the cold-bitten pink of his cheeks. Tom could feel the intensity behind his sharp blue stare even with such a distance between them, knew Will was taking him in with as much worry and desperation as Tom did him.</p><p>Their company had been assigned as moppers up to battalions from the Buffs and Queens—the Royal East and West Kent Regiments. It would be their responsibility to guard the entrances to dugouts and communications trenches to protect the Buffs and Queens against any attacks from behind. While that meant their participation in the scuffle would hopefully be short and less dangerous, Tom still found the same plea he repeated like a prayer mirrored in the look Will sent him.</p><p>
  <em>We’ll see each other again. Don't do anything stupid. Come back to me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t leave me behind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t die on me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t die. Don’t die.</em>
</p><p>The screeches of whistles and soaring shells marked the beginning of the attack. It was nice having the artillery coming from their side for once, at least.</p><p>When the time for the third wave to go over arrived, Tom numbly climbed over the top alongside his section and chased after the faster runners. These meters of field they fought over swooped and sloped with large craters made by shell and mine. The freshly fallen snow made navigating No Man’s Land tougher, and Tom found himself nearly wiping out a couple of times. Thankfully, the return fire from the Germans had lessened after the first and second waves came upon their front line.</p><p>The sudden blast of a shell sent Tom rolling sideways even as it landed far away. Dizzy, he shook his senses back in order just in time to hear the panicked yells of a man to his right. A trail of bright red over white snow led down to a gaping shell hole, inside of which Private Russell kept sliding further down. If he reached the bottom, Tom was certain there would be no helping him out. Without a second thought, he slid himself over the edge of the crater and reached down to clasp Russell’s hand.</p><p>“Hold on, I’ll pull you up,” he called, gritting his teeth with the effort of holding the boy’s weight.</p><p>Russell screamed as his injuries pulled—shrapnel, no doubt—but Tom was able to bring him back over the lip of the hole.</p><p>“Stay down,” Tom ordered, doing his best to project the same strong tone Will could command. “Keep your head down, try to crawl back to our side. It’ll be easier for the stretcher-bearers to get you.”</p><p>Russell nodded, his cheeks still soft with youth now stained with tears. Unable to linger, Tom pulled himself up into a crouch and dashed after his section. He caught up with them as they came upon the German’s barbed wire. Thankfully, their artillery fire had blasted the cursed wires to smithereens, and Tom dropped down into the secured front trench with the rest of his company.</p><p>He craned his neck to stare down the zigzagging trench, but he caught no glimpse of Will. Instead, he spotted Sergeant Sanders leading a group of men down to the closest communications trench. Tom exchanged a look with Private Walker, who stood closest to him. Walker’s eyes unnerved him, wide and bloodshot with fear as they were, but Tom felt the weight of that new chevron on his sleeve, so he gripped his rifle tighter and shared a firm nod with the older man.</p><p>“Let’s find those dugouts, then,” Tom told him.</p><p>They followed the flow of soldiers down the trench. German bodies strewn about made it near impossible to advance, but Tom kept his gaze locked stubbornly forward. The cold of winter and the sights of war had numbed him to such an extent that he could maintain the lie that he stepped only on slushy piles of snow and not someone’s back or limb. In front of him, Private Walker advanced in silence with shoulders tensed high as he held his gun at the ready, and Tom wished he could say something to lighten the oppressive mood.</p><p>They continued down the trench, crouching or pressing against its walls every time their allies’ call of “Grenade!” echoed nearby.</p><p>Tom began to think the attack would go as smoothly as the brass had hoped when a door neatly camouflaged against the wood of the right trench wall was slammed open a few feet ahead of them. He barely caught the glint of a bayonet before he was knocked to the ground by Walker’s weight.</p><p>Walker’s kit dug painfully into his chest, and screaming rose all around—screams in German, screams of pain as the bayonet jerked back. Walker struggled to get up, wriggling uncomfortably on Tom’s lap, and the crack of a rifle firing rang in Tom’s ears. Private Walker became dead weight in his arms.</p><p>Had he been shot? Had <em>Tom</em>?</p><p>Tom kicked desperately against the slippery mud and scooted back, sliding out from under Walker’s body. A German soldier stood in front of them, the tip of his bayonet dripping red with Walker’s blood. Tom paled. His heart stopped. Only the click of a reloaded rifle got Tom scrambling for his own weapon, which had been knocked out of his grasp when he fell backward.</p><p><em>He was going to die here.</em> The thought flashed with cold accuracy through his head.</p><p>
  <em>We’ll see each other again. Don't do anything stupid.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Come back to me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t leave me behind.</em>
</p><p>The crack of a gunshot resounded again, and Tom jerked in fright. Everything seemed to still as the German soldier gasped for breath before he stumbled forward and onto his knees. Standing behind him was none other than Will, gun still poised to shoot and barrel smoking. With deadly precision, Will lunged forward with his rifle and sunk his bayonet into the soldier. He delivered the killing blow with such strength that he forced the soldier completely to the ground with the motion, pinning him to the duckboards.</p><p>Tom gawked up at him, sprawled as he was on the ground, while Will worked with single-mind focus—with precision and fluidity born from experience alone. He didn’t spare the enemy another glance before yanking his rifle and bayonet back. Will then pulled the pin on a hand grenade and tossed it down the dugout that the German had come out from. He rushed back and skidded down to Tom’s side, curling over him to cover him from the blast. The ground shook beneath them and dirt and chalk and snow alike pelted them, but no more enemies came pouring out.</p><p>“Are you all right?” Will asked, pulling back and desperately clawing at Tom’s webbing and leather vest. “Tom? <em>Tom</em>!”</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I-I think so,” Tom stuttered out. He blinked back to his senses and helped Will shift his weight so that Tom could lean against the wall of the trench. His whole front was soaked red, but he registered no pain whatsoever. “Not mine. It’s not my blood.”</p><p>They both glanced back at the prone body of Private Walker. Tom’s vision blurred and he tore his eyes away, gripping Will’s sleeve instead. “Come on, help me up. We’re not done here yet.”</p><p>Will glanced back at him, expression revealing nothing, emotions buried deep down. He gave Tom a sharp nod and wrapped a hand around his arm, hauling him up. Tom’s knees shook under his weight, but Will didn’t release his grip until he found his balance.</p><p>“Stay close to me,” Will told him. <em>I’ll protect you</em>.</p><p>“I will,” Tom nodded. He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes. One deep breath, one thankful prayer that he was still able to do it. “Thank you.”</p><p>Will pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded back once. Tom could sense the storm brewing inside Will—fear, anger, relief, devotion—but they continued their advance to rejoin their platoon and left the air thick with death and things unspoken.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>• • •</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The order to stand down came a few hours past midday. They were to do one last attack the following morning, but the higher-ups seemed satisfied for now. The troops were rewarded with an extra ration of rum and a free evening to rest and enjoy the third round of the divisional football tournament. Their team was playing the 10th Essex Regiment, a worthy contender or so Tom was told.</p><p>He couldn’t bear to pay much attention to his company at the moment, but there was not much else to do while he stood and fidgeted with his rings. A few men set up imaginary lines and goal posts using random planks of wood or a few crates leftover from the last supply run. The privates who had not participated in full during that morning’s attack were laughing and placing bets for the upcoming match. Watching them made Tom ill. A foreign weight had settled deep inside his ribcage, bearing down against his stomach and lungs. It festered, and not even his rings were enough to ground him.</p><p>The distinct crunching of boots against the icy ground alerted him to someone’s approach, so he turned his attention away from the troops. Will stood behind him, helmet snowed on top and hands burrowed deep in his pockets.</p><p>His posture was tense and his gaze searching, but his voice remained calm as he said, “A few others want to brave a trip up to Reims. Their request for transport got denied. They won’t risk the horses or a lorry.”</p><p>“I’m going,” Tom said immediately. “Not really in the mood for sports right now.”</p><p>Will nodded, and Tom realized he had expected that answer. Of course, Will had been fighting for so much longer than him. How many times had he been in Tom’s place? More than Tom would like to think about. So he knew Tom would say yes before he even asked or, rather, he had asked because he knew it was what Tom needed: a way to walk away, a way to gain physical distance from what had happened that morning.</p><p>Will was taking care of him. He was supporting him without fussing over him and overwhelming him with his own affection and concerns when Tom could barely hold it together.</p><p>God, Tom would give up his life for Will. He would give it <em>to</em> him.</p><p>Decided, they met up with the other soldiers who did not fear almost an hour-long hike through the snow. Twelve privates, another corporal, and two lieutenants. Tom feared the march up to the small town would be tense due to the presence of the two higher officers, but the ambiance soon melted into chuckles after the first unfortunate soul wiped out on a patch of ice.</p><p>Will stayed close to Tom’s side the whole journey, arms brushing together from time to time. Whenever Tom’s stance wobbled, Will’s large hand would instantly come up to hold his elbow, keeping him steady. Their silent arrangement worked somehow until Will’s foot slipped from underneath him. Tom threw his arm across Will’s chest to stop his forward fall, but Will grabbed hold of Tom’s back webbing at the same time, pulling Tom down with him in their scramble for purchase. Tom’s hip and elbow smarted with the landing, and his ears filled with laughter from the soldiers nearby.</p><p>The moment sent Tom years into the past, to winters long ago when he would chase Joe down their barren orchard. Afterward, his limbs would ache from the cold and the constant slipping, but he would be ready to go out to play again the next morning.</p><p>Childish laughter rang in Tom’s ears as he struggled up to his knees, and he noticed with a start that it was his own. A thought came unbidden. <em>He had almost lost his chance at this today</em>. The stress and panic of the day shot forward to catch up with him the same way sound had rushed back to his ears; like powerful, violent ocean waves crashing and dragging against his insides, threatening to choke him, to drown him. His chest kept quivering with laughter against his wishes, lips pulled tight into what he failed to identify as either a smile or a grimace while huffs of breath were expelled from his lungs.</p><p>Will shifted next to him, shifted closer like he heard Tom’s sobs for what they really were. The solid weight of his hand found its spot on Tom’s shoulder.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked. “I’m sorry I pulled you down with me.”</p><p>Tom shook his head and sniffed. “It’s alright. I think I needed that.”</p><p>Will held Tom’s gaze for a second before nodding. He held no judgment for Tom’s delayed cry.</p><p>With careful footing, he stood up and offered a hand down for Tom to take. Tom quickly wiped his eyes dry and accepted Will’s help. When he looked up, Tom noticed the rest of their mates had walked on, eager to reach Reims in search of warmth. Will remained close to him though, and Tom’s heart gave an eager jolt when his cold fingers brushed against Tom’s own for the briefest of moments.</p><p>“Come,” Will said gently. “We shouldn’t linger.”</p><p>Tom fell into easy step with him, stealing a few glances up at his sharp profile every time he could. Will’s brow was set into a severe look, his gaze far away from their present walk. It made the lines around his eyes stand out, in turn attracting more attention to his stunning blue eyes. Tom’s gaze trailed down to his chiseled jaw, following its sharp angle to the point it was abruptly cut off by the top of his scarf. His pale skin had reddened in the cold, and his long nose kept wrinkling every time he sniffled.</p><p>Tom’s chest bloomed with its own hearth at the endearing motion. The cold dissipated all around him, leaving him suspended in this wondrous moment next to Will. For a brief moment, he let himself believe everything was all right. Just for one moment.</p><p>“You’re staring, my heart.”</p><p>Will’s mumbled words snapped Tom back to his senses, and the heat in his chest spread all the way up to the tip of his ears upon hearing the endearment. He whipped back to face forward, stumbling over his apology.</p><p>“Sorry. I couldn’t quite help it.”</p><p>Will stole a quick glance at him before his fingers bumped with Tom’s again. There was the briefest pressure against Tom’s fingers, and then Will’s hand was gone. Tom mourned the loss and sent a petulant glare at the backs of the men walking ahead of them. They had nearly caught up to the group, who were now slipping their way up a small hill. Tom really wished the others had all refused to join the hike.</p><p>Up the hill they followed the men, holding out their chilled hands for balance as the snow shifted treacherously under their studded soles. The moment they crested the peak, a bleak panorama expanded before them, the ground beneath their feet a charred carpet. Tom panted the frozen air into his lungs, face warm with exertion.</p><p>“Bloody hell,” he wheezed. “Now that’s one sad sight, innit?”</p><p>The town of Reims was nothing more than the black husk of what it once was. The area had been shelled so heavily in previous years that more than half the buildings were but blackened walls reaching up to the heavens. Deep in the heart of the destroyed city, its cathedral stood above the wreckage—miraculously intact, it appeared. It was by far the largest building around, with spikes and towers intimidating Tom even from that distance. It was impossible to tell if some parts of the building had been hit as well and had crumbled under the strength of the artillery impacts, but its sight was enough to fill Tom’s heart with an odd sort of peace.</p><p>“Alright lads, you have a couple hours at most. We’re walking the way back so mind your time wisely.”</p><p>With the given dismissal, Tom and Will broke apart from the largest group at the entrance to Reims. It surprised Tom how crowded the main streets were. A few French soldiers walked about and sat in groups around small fires, not even sparing a second glance their way. It looked like a few companies were posted in the city, probably tending to and protecting the local hospital and the Officers' Club near the center plaza. One of those two chores was more important than the other, though Tom knew each soldier’s answer would vary.</p><p>Tom trudged on after Will, taking in the demolished buildings and the old shrapnel damage on the walls. The whole city thrummed, alive with a quiet hustle. Tom was sure Will was looking for the right place to rest and get warm, one not as busy as the main places the soldiers frequented but not unprotected either. Tom didn’t much care either way. His fingers were freezing in his soaked fingerless mittens, and he could no longer feel his feet inside his boots. Plus, the weight sitting on his chest had gotten heavier with each step, threatening to break his ribs and splinter his very soul.</p><p>He looked up at Will again, who was now walking a few steps ahead as Tom’s pace had slowed down. Will’s shoulders slumped, weary under the weight of his kit, but his back remained straight, proud. He tended to be a quiet comfort by Tom’s side, unyielding, but Tom couldn’t get the dangerous gleam that he had seen in Will’s eyes out of his head. He had never seen Will’s expression go so cold, so angry, so…scared. Will had been scared.</p><p>His dear Will.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t die on me.</em>
</p><p>Tom reached up and clawed a hand over his bloodstained webbing. He choked on emotion, sight blurring and foggy breath nearly blinding him with how quick he exhaled. He had almost gone back on his word today.</p><p>He had almost left his Will behind. Alone.</p><p>Will came to a stop a few feet ahead, and the quiet hitch of his breath snapped Tom out of his thoughts. Tom’s eyes trailed up from the snowed ground, crawling up the honey-stoned wall of the west façade of Notre-Dame de Reims. Seeing it up close, he discovered that the cathedral had not been pardoned from the hellfire of war as he had first believed. Its structure was charred like the rest of the city, shrapnel wounds leaving scars behind, and its windows were completely bare of any glass—stained or otherwise.</p><p>“The ceiling burned down,” Will said. It sounded like a lament.</p><p>With a start, Tom noticed that the cathedral’s ceiling had indeed caved in. He could see patches of sky through the windowsills and the skeletal remains of the beams.</p><p>A few French soldiers stood guard by the impressive portals, and Tom guessed there couldn't be more than a dozen stationed around the entire cathedral. They looked just as cold and weary as all the others. Tom didn’t envy their posts.</p><p>Will restarted their slow walk anew, turning right toward the north tower. Tom followed, though his eyes remained glued to the rose window above the central portal. The church was but a husk of what it once was, yet Tom had no doubts that it had been magnificent at one point. It must have been important if the French put sentries around it, but he failed to recall if someone in their party had talked about it on their way over.</p><p>Tom felt small as he followed Will around the shadows of the north wall and its buttresses. The missing roof of the nave was glaringly obvious from this angle, and the ache in Tom’s chest worsened upon such senseless destruction. To think that even something so magnificent as this cathedral could be reduced to a pile of rubble, could be forgotten if not for the people left behind who still cared—it built a primal scream inside Tom that got stuck in his throat, left unheard but still rattling in his head.</p><p>What was he in comparison to a house of God, built centuries ago to withstand all evil? What was he in comparison to all those other boys in their regiment, in the French troops? What was he in comparison to poor Private Walker, snuffed out in a matter of seconds?</p><p>That could have been Tom. That could have been him and he would have left nothing but an insubstantial memory behind.</p><p>For his mother.</p><p>For his brother.</p><p>For Will.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t die. Don’t die.</em>
</p><p>“Tom?”</p><p>Will’s voice snapped Tom’s gaze down from the cathedral’s pinnacles. He was walking back toward Tom after he noticed he had stopped following a while ago. Will’s brow furrowed in that manner that made his eyes appear sharper. Although his gray scarf blocked the sight, Tom was certain his lips were pressed together in that tight line that squared his entire jaw. The mere sight of him and the weight of his unspoken concern filled Tom’s heart to the point of bursting.</p><p>He knew what he wanted to do.</p><p>Determined, he fixed the weight of his kit on his shoulders and strode up to meet Will halfway. Before Will could question him, Tom grabbed his right arm in a tight grip and tugged him along closer to the cathedral’s walls. They walked right past the two French privates standing watch in front of the north portal, not even earning a glance from them as the privates huddled into themselves for warmth.</p><p>It was only once they reached a large opening leading into the church proper that Will dug his heels into the snow and took his arm back from Tom.</p><p>“Tom, we can’t go in there. We’ll get in trouble,” he said, concern sharpening his words into a low hiss.</p><p>Tom whirled around. “Will…” he began just as sharply, wanting to ask Will to trust him, tell him to shut up and follow, but all words choked and died out in his throat.</p><p>Tom had no idea what his expression looked like, but it must have been ghastly enough because Will took a step back as if Tom had slapped him. Tom couldn’t feel the tip of his nose anymore, but he sniffed and quickly blinked the mist away from his eyes. Without saying anything in the end, he turned back to what must have been a blown-out window and clambered inside the building.</p><p>His frozen legs protested when he landed on the other side, but he paid them no mind and instead pushed deeper into the nave. The entire floor was flooded with debris from the collapsed roof, making it nearly impossible to navigate. Will sighed behind him, and the soft landing of his boots told Tom that he had indeed followed not a minute later. Some of the tapestries and framed paintings on the walls hung in tatters, and the fire had blackened all the others.</p><p>Tom turned in a slow circle as he absorbed the damage around him, and his breath left him in a rush when he faced the artistry of about fifty statues embedded to the interior of the west façade, framing the west doors and rose window. Even though the statues had suffered severely in the fire as well, he could still make out a couple that interacted as if they were telling a story. Most probable, they told stories from the Bible, but Tom didn’t dare approach to confirm his suspicions. He feared straying too close to any of the doors would alert the sentries of their intrusion.</p><p>Instead, he turned away from the sculptures and tried his best to follow the length of the nave to the east, toward the choir. However, the piles of debris became impossible to climb before he even reached the transept.</p><p>“The French must have moved the debris like this on purpose,” Will said behind him, his voice gone quiet inside the imposing cathedral.</p><p>Tom eyed him as he fell into his natural place at Tom’s side. “What do you mean?” he asked.</p><p>“Notre-Dame de Reims. I remember seeing photos of it in the papers two years ago. The French were enraged the Boche shelled it,” Will explained, shifting slightly as he took in the destruction around them. “They used to crown kings here, you see.”</p><p>Tom’s eyes widened. Kings? That certainly explained the splendor and surveillance of the place. The knowledge made Tom feel even smaller, insignificant in the passage of time. He was standing where kings had once stood.</p><p>What was he to a King?</p><p>“It’s been used as a hospital though,” Will continued.</p><p>He nodded over to a tangle of white sheets further away, and Tom realized with a start that he could also spot more hints through the snow now that he knew what to look for. Stained, threadbare mattresses pressed close to the less damaged walls; dirtied bandages caught on iron fences; dark, questionable stains on the few pews that had survived the fire.</p><p>“They must have moved the hospital someplace warmer for the winter. Somewhere with a roof, at least.”</p><p>Will’s soft voice faded into a contemplative silence, his words absorbed into the high walls of the cathedral. Tom blinked as white fat snowflakes floated down in front of his vision, and he followed their trajectory heavenward, mesmerized. Everything around them had gone oddly muted, and the air itself somehow shifted into something <em>soft</em>. Tom felt suspended in time, cushioned. Nothing mattered in this holy place except him and Will.</p><p>Will’s hand found his then, and Tom instinctively blinked down at their linked fingers before taking a cursory look around to ensure no one could spot them. But the place was deserted, and the French sentries would remain none the wiser if Tom and Will stayed quiet enough.</p><p>“Tom,” Will spoke again, and his tone was warm cider to Tom’s ears, “why are we here?”</p><p>The answer sat heavy on Tom’s tongue, but it was harder to let it out than he expected. He felt so small, so insignificant, so ridiculous, but Will deserved to hear it. Tom trusted him with his life, with his heart—Will deserved to <em>know</em>.</p><p>“Okay,” Tom breathed, trembling both from nerves and the cold. “Okay.”</p><p>He extracted his hand from Will’s and removed his woolen mitten, stuffing it in the deep pocket of his trousers. His fingers shook violently and Will’s piercing stare did no favors to his accelerating heartbeat, but Tom still managed to slip his two golden rings off. He held them on his palm, staring at their slightly different sizes as he shyly presented them to Will.</p><p>“I’ve…I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Tom said and licked his frozen lips in a nervous tick, “and I want to give you one if you’ll have it. If…if you’ll have me.”</p><p>Will instantly shook his head, holding a hand up in a placating gesture. “No, Tom, those rings are—”</p><p>“—my father’s, I know. No, wait, Will, <em>listen</em>,” Tom said. The weight in his chest pressed down painfully. It brought forth an urgency and desperation that Tom had been keeping at bay the whole day. “Listen, I almost died today, okay? I almost <em>died</em>. And if it hadn’t been for you coming back for me, if it had been me and not Walker taking front--”</p><p>A sob broke through Tom’s speech, and those cursed tears dripped free down his cheeks. Will shushed him gently and stepped closer to hold Tom’s arms in loving support, caging Tom’s hand with the two rings between their chests.</p><p>Taking courage from Will’s warmth, Tom swallowed and continued, “I almost left you behind, Will, and that scared me more than anything. So I want you to know. I need you to know. I will never be able to exchange rings with you, not before the Church or the law or any witnesses, but I would if I could. I will, right here, right now, with only God and the Heavens as our witnesses, if you’ll have me.” Tom motioned up with a nervous smile at the roofless skies dropping snowflakes onto their helmets and uniforms. He was a trembling mess in Will’s hold, but he still managed to meet Will’s flabbergasted stare and asked, “So what say you, Lance Corporal Schofield? Will you exchange vows with me?”</p><p>Will’s answer came in the form of a searing kiss. Tom could barely find purchase against Will’s chest before Will cupped his chilled face and tilted him into a deeper angle. His nose dug against Tom’s cheek, but Will continued undeterred, leaning further in as if to consume Tom whole. Tom’s numb lips warmed under Will’s own chapped ones, and Will’s scarf kept tingling Tom’s chin where Will had shoved it down in his haste. It was perfect.</p><p>A rather embarrassing noise wheezed out of Tom when Will finally pulled away, but Will stopped only far enough to whisper a rough, “Yes,” against Tom’s lips. “Yes. I will exchange rings and vows with you, Thomas Blake.”</p><p>The words caressed Tom’s kiss-dazed mind like velvet, and it took a few seconds for them to actually make sense. His heart skipped and twirled and tangled all over his lungs, choking him on a shaky exhale.</p><p>“You would?” he asked, unable to mask the watery grin that took over his face. “You will?”</p><p>“Yes,” Will said and proved it with another kiss. “A thousand times, yes.”</p><p>Tom laughed—youthful, a sound pulled right from his belly—and took a step back. “Okay. Okay. We’re doing this. <em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>Will smiled at the expletive, and Tom’s brain whited out again at the sight. The lines of Will’s smile pulled at his entire face in a show of pure happiness, highlighting his cheekbones and squinting his eyes in a way that left Tom entirely at his mercy. He would have gladly dropped to his knees and worshipped Will with more devotion than he would have any other figure housed in this cathedral.</p><p>Tom’s gawking might have grown obvious again because Will coughed with purpose. It helped Tom snap out of it, but not before he noticed the rosy blush that spread over the high bridge of Will’s nose.</p><p>“Right, sorry,” Tom said. He shuffled his feet and glanced down at the two rings on his palm, drawing courage. “I’ve been to far too few weddings, and I can’t say I paid much attention then.” He cleared his throat, though he sounded more like a dying animal than anything, and Will chuckled again.</p><p>“You’re simply supposed to say what you will, my heart. You’re not being judged.”</p><p>“Yes well, that’s not quite right now, innit? You’re very much here and it is meant for you.”</p><p>“Tom.”</p><p>Tom took a deep breath. He could do this. It had been simmering in his being during the entire afternoon. He may have been just another soldier in the masses, but he was standing on holy ground where French kings had been crowned in the past, and he was about to vow his eternal love to the man he chose to spend the rest of his life with.</p><p>In this moment, Tom felt full. Tall. He felt so big he could fill out every chamber and every nook of the cathedral. Abundant. Complete.</p><p>And so he spoke, for Will, “I, Thomas Blake, take you, William Schofield, to be my husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner, and my love…from this day forward, for better or for worse.” He closed his eyes and searched for the words he had heard in other ceremonies, but he quickly opened them again in fear of missing even a second of Will’s besotted expression. “I promise to love you, to respect you, to support you, and to stay by your side in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, in war and in peace.</p><p>“In the presence of God, I offer you this vow to love you and cherish you for as long as we both shall live,” he continued, and his smile softened when Will took in a stuttering breath, hit by the reality of those last words. Tom tightened his hold on Will’s hand and finished, more confident and relaxed than when he started, “As I have given you my hand to hold, I now give you my life to keep.”</p><p>Will’s eyes were starry bright with tears, but he kept them at bay with a smile so tender Tom felt himself float above the snow.</p><p>“You said you didn’t know how to do this?” Will teased him, and a watery laugh bubbled out of Tom.</p><p>A few tears detached from Will’s eyelashes when he chuckled, and Tom let go of his hand to wipe them away. He drew Will close enough to press their foreheads together, cooing sweet nothings until Will was pliant in his hands. Once Will had regained some composure, he brought Tom’s hand down and pressed a kiss to his fingers before intertwining them with his.</p><p>And so Will spoke for Tom, finding courage in their touch, “I may have read a lot of poetry to keep myself sane in recent years, but none of it made much sense until I fell in love with you.” He paused briefly, hesitated only a second before he recited, “For I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s breath. I love thee with the breath, smiles, and tears of all my life. And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.</p><p>“I, William Schofield,” he swore, voice and eyes firm with fierce determination now, “promise you, Thomas Blake, to love you and support you unconditionally as my husband and eternal love, to laugh with you and cry with you. I promise you this from the bottom of my heart, for all the days of my life.”</p><p>Tom cried unrepentantly now. His cold bitten cheeks hurt from smiling so wide throughout Will’s vows, and his nose was probably gross and runny with how often he sniffed. Even so, Will gently wiped his tears away like Tom had done for him. His gaze and touch were so tender Tom only cried harder.</p><p>“You may now kiss,” he hiccupped out.</p><p>Will grinned and trapped Tom’s laughter with his lips when he sealed their vows with a kiss. There may have been no official authorities present to witness their exchange, but Tom could care less in the middle of a war zone. For all that he was concerned, this was the first kiss he shared with Will as wedded husbands. He nearly complained when Will pulled away but stopped when Will’s hand moved to the one he was holding the rings with. Blinking quickly, Tom opened his palm and revealed the two golden bands again.</p><p>“Oh, right,” he said. “I figured you could keep the bigger ring if it fits you.”</p><p>He let go of Will’s hand and shyly slipped the ring on Will’s left ring finger, but the band sat a bit too snug over Will’s second knuckle. The sight made them giggle, and Tom covered his face with his hands to hide his embarrassment and stifle a groan.</p><p>“Hang on, I have an idea,” Will said, voice still merry light.</p><p>Tom watched with fascination as Will pulled his identity discs from underneath all his layers of clothes. Will spared them no glance as he tugged the metal chain off his neck and instead concentrated on unhooking it. Tom made a soft sound of surprise when he realized what Will was trying to do, and he hurried to retrieve his own discs as well. They struggled to force their numb fingers to cooperate, but Tom’s rings hung one next to each of their soldier IDs eventually. Tom fingered his ring absentmindedly, but his eyes remained glued to the one now sitting against Will’s chest.</p><p>Will’s hands found his again and held them up against his chest as if to share his very heartbeat with Tom. Will leaned in close and brushed his long nose against Tom’s temple, pressing the cold rings against their joined hands.</p><p>“What are you thinking about, my heart?” Will asked. His lips brushed against the apple of Tom’s cheek as he spoke, and Tom thought he would overflow with love for this man.</p><p>Tom returned Will’s nuzzling with just as much tenderness. “I’m thinking that you know now. No matter what happens, you will always know how much I love you. You will always remember it, now.”</p><p>Will pressed his forehead against Tom’s and locked blue-on-blue with their gaze. “And you know now too, how much I love you. I will never forget, Tom. I would never.”</p><p>Tom swayed his weight forward onto his tiptoes and locked lips with Will again, suspended in this moment inside a snowed-in cathedral.</p><p>For as long as they both shall live.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>• • •</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Together with their families</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thomas Blake</em>
</p><p>
  <em>&amp;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>William Schofield </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Request the pleasure of your company to celebrate their marriage</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Sunday December 20th 2020</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Two o’clock in the afternoon</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Loft</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cookham, Berkshire</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>• • •</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Tom took a steadying breath as he did one last cursory check in the full-length mirror that he had gotten quite acquainted with for the past hour. His dark hair had been styled back in a sleek formal look, although one curl kept stubbornly separating from the rest to fall on his forehead. Tom thought it made him look more like himself, at the very least.</p><p>He donned a gray slim-fitted tuxedo of a shade so unique it almost resembled silver. A deep red wine necktie contrasted elegantly with his outfit, and a fake short branch with white cherry blossoms sat in his breast pocket. He was fiddling with his cufflinks when the creak of the door opening nearly gave him a heart attack.</p><p>“Relax, it’s only me,” Joe said. He allowed himself into the room in a shivering mess. “It’s started snowing again. I still can’t understand why you two insisted on this date when we could have been doing this in the summer or at some beach instead.”</p><p>Tom rolled his eyes at his brother’s antics. “It felt right, okay? Are we ready to begin?” he asked, and his stomach twisted in a confusing mix of nerves and eagerness.</p><p>“Yes, if you can keep from fainting.” Joe regarded Tom’s suit appreciatively and placed supporting hands on his shoulders. “You sure you don’t want to bail?”</p><p>“Shut up, you bastard.” Tom went to cuff Joe upside the head with a laugh, but he dodged his hand easily. “Don’t even joke about that. I love Will. I physically can’t wait to be married to him…but I also think I’m two steps away from barfing and having a seizure.”</p><p>Joe winced. “Oomph, yeah, better compose yourself first, Tommy. You don’t want the first thing you do to your new husband is ruin his shoes.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t be so different from our first meeting then,” said Tom. “It was a bad idea to try new seafood in France. I’d say that an ‘Oo-la-la wee wee’ would have been more effective if I wasn’t about to get married right now.”</p><p>“Trust me, little brother,” Joe said and patted Tom on the back, “you two met at a battlefield tour while searching for your ancestors’ graves. It doesn’t get nerdier than that. But save those stories for the reception. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer.”</p><p>Tom took another shaky breath and nodded at Joe. They headed for the door, but before Tom could step out, Joe stopped him again with a hand on his elbow.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, and those bright blue eyes of his melted into the softest look Joe had ever given Tom. “I’m truly happy for you, Tom.” The two brothers fell into a tight embrace, but Joe quickly kissed the side of Tom’s head and pulled back with one last pat to his back. “Oh, and fair warning,” he said, “mom’s already crying in the first row.”</p><p>Tom laughed and allowed Joe to guide him out of the building of the venue and into the large garden attached to it. A blanket of pure white snow covered the ground and more still dusted down from the heavens. Tall pine and oak trees surrounded the garden, highlighting the modest isle set up in the middle of the winter wonderland. A thick, dark red carpet had been laid out in strategic paths to help their guests navigate through the snow, keeping shoes and long gowns dry.</p><p>Tom spotted his friends from university almost immediately—Cooke, Rossi, it looked like Jon had made it too. Will’s friend Lauri was present, as were Joe’s friends Leslie and Richards. Tom could barely keep up with the sea of faces smiling back at him, but there was only one he truly cared about.</p><p>Will stood next to the small dais already, which led up to the wedding arch decorated with more fake cherry blossoms. Will was smiling at Tom’s mother and rubbing comforting circles on her back, joining forces with Tom’s father to calm her down. Mrs. Blake dabbed at her face with a rose-colored handkerchief, her other hand closing her fur coat tighter across her chest. When she looked up and spotted her approaching sons, she quickly waved Will off and ushered him away.</p><p>Tom witnessed the exact moment in which Will registered her words, and his blue eyes widened before he looked up to seek out Tom. Once their gazes met, Will’s features were overtaken by a grin so wide it stretched over onto Tom’s lips as well. In perfect contrast to Tom, Will wore a red wine suit the same shade as Tom’s necktie. His necktie matched Tom’s suit to complete the set, and he too had a small cherry blossom branch on his breast pocket.</p><p>God, Tom needed to marry this man <em>now</em> or he would die.</p><p>Will was still taking him in when Tom joined him by the dais. The cold made their blushes seem darker, but the soft snowfall framed Will in a most surreal aura. It somehow felt like they were suspended in time, alone like two figures standing safe in their own little snow globe.</p><p>“You are a proper vision, my heart,” Will said, having finally found his voice. He took Tom’s hand in his larger one and brought it up to place a kiss on his knuckles. “Absolutely gorgeous.”</p><p>Tom giggled at the compliments, proud of the blush that spread over his cheeks. Will had brought it out of him, after all.</p><p>His dear Will.</p><p>“You look quite dashing yourself,” Tom said and basked in the soft look Will sent his way.</p><p>He allowed Will to lead him up the dais, where a table had been set up with a velvet mantel. The wedding registrar gave them a kind smile when they approached, and the crowd behind them immediately fell into an eager hush. Joe took his place to the side as the official ring bearer, and Tom nearly dug his fingernails into Will’s hand when the registrar stepped up to fulfill her role as officiator, too.</p><p>The ceremony started, and Tom’s head filled with a happy buzz. They had done only one rehearsal, but that had been enough for Tom to memorize most of the legal speech they had to include to make sure their union was as legal as it could be. Their registrar was warm and jolly, and she even managed to draw some laughs from the crowd before she gave Tom and Will the go-ahead to exchange the part of their vows that they were allowed to write themselves.</p><p>Tom and Will turned to face each other properly, and Tom nearly forgot the vows he had worked so hard on during the past month. Nothing mattered to him in that moment other than Will.</p><p>So he gripped Will’s hands tightly and spoke as steadfast as never before, “I, Thomas Blake, take you, William Schofield, to be my husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner, and my love from this day forward, for better or for worse. I promise to love you, to respect you, to support you, and to stay by your side in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, in war and in peace.</p><p>“In the presence of God, I offer you this vow to love you and cherish you for as long as we both shall live,” Tom continued. He feared he had barreled through his memorized vows in fear of forgetting them, but this last part settled something in him. His tone held nothing but honesty and devotion as he finished. “As I have given you my hand to hold, I now give you my life to keep.”</p><p>Will sniffed and shifted his weight on his feet in front of Tom, trying his hardest not to cry. That knowledge made Tom giggle, and Will followed. Their guests joined in, endeared by their nerves and eagerness. Eventually, Will cleared his throat and reeled in his composure.</p><p>Unbeknownst to them both, he sealed a century-old vow when he spoke, “I may have read a lot of poetry to keep myself sane in recent years, but none of it made much sense until I fell in love with you. For I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s breath. I love thee with the breath, smiles, and tears of all my life.</p><p>“And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death,” Will finished reciting. Tom had always loved the way Will interpreted his favorite poems. His voice turned deep and tender, and it was all it took for Tom to lose the battle against his own tears. Will quickly brought a hand up to wipe Tom’s cheek with his thumb, and he held Tom’s gaze when he swore, “I, William Schofield, promise you, Thomas Blake, to love you and support you unconditionally as my husband and eternal love, to laugh with you and cry with you. I promise you this from the bottom of my heart, for all the days of my life.”</p><p>The registrar nodded proudly and motioned for Joe to step forward with the rings. The two wedding bands were modest in design, golden like the ones that had been passed down for generations in the Blake family. Tom grabbed the one meant for Will and slipped it onto his left ring finger—it sat with a perfect fit. Will did the same for Tom with the other ring, and the cold metal was a very welcomed sensation on Tom’s skin.</p><p>Soon after, Tom and Will’s fathers were called forward to act as witnesses during the signing of the wedding registry. Tom’s hand shook in excitement when he took the pen offered by the registrar, but his signature was the smoothest and most legible he had ever signed. Once their parents had signed and returned to their seats, their registrar reached the end of their civil ceremony.</p><p>“By the power invested in me by the county of Berkshire,” she said, “I now pronounce you wedded husbands. You may now kiss.”</p><p>Tom surged forward at the same time that Will leaned over to meet him halfway, causing their guests to break out into cheers and thunderous clapping. Will had his hands buried in Tom’s hair, probably messing up his painstaking styling. Tom couldn’t care less though, and he wrapped his arms around Will’s waist to pull him even closer into their kiss until he quite literally lifted him off his feet. Tom laughed at the noise of surprise Will made against his lips and allowed Will’s feet to touch the ground again, ending their first kiss as a married couple to the whistles and wolf howls of their guests.</p><p>“I love you,” Tom told Will, and he would continue telling him for the rest of his life.</p><p>Will smiled and kissed him again, shorter this time. “You just made me the happiest man on Earth today,” Will said.</p><p>Tom grinned at him, and together they turned to face their friends and family. Tom’s eyes trailed over his parents, Will’s, all the people he held dear until his eyes reached the oak trees looming at the far back of the garden, blurred out by the snowfall. There, his gaze fell on two figures that stood together under the snowy branches. They existed distant from everyone else, dressed in muted greens and tans from over a century ago. One of them smiled so widely Tom could see dimples that were a mirror of his own in the distance, and the taller one slowly tilted a Brodie helmet at him in acknowledgment—in gratefulness.</p><p>When Tom blinked next, the visions were gone. Still, he felt no fear. Instead, his chest was flooded with relieved warmth so comforting that it nearly brought him to tears. It was almost as if a long-forgotten weight had been lifted, a raging ocean calmed. Squeezing Will’s hand, Tom shared another bright smile with him before leading his husband down the dais, into the arms of all their loved ones.</p><p>And Tom would uphold his vows.</p><p>And Tom would love Will.</p><p>For as long as they both shall live.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading to the end!</p><p>I'm a big fan of historical accuracy in 1917 fics, so I researched quite a bit for my story as well. I used a website that details all activities of the 8th Battalion of the East Surrey Regiment during WW1, and I tried to stay true to those facts. The 8th was indeed stationed by the city of Reims in December 1916, but I used my writer's magic to put them close enough that a quick hike to reach the city would not be impossible.</p><p>I tried my best to keep my descriptions of Reims and its cathedral as historically accurate as possible too. The French were indeed angry after it was shelled, so there's photo evidence of the damage it received in 1914. From there, I compared it to the blueprints and images of the renovated cathedral to build a better idea of it in my head. Gods, I'm such a nerd.</p><p>The poem Will recites in his vows is “How Do I Love Thee” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861).</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>